Untitled Story From Sam’s Place – Chapter XIII

As Sam pulled into the pool hall parking lot, he noticed a paper from a yellow legal pad thumbtacked to the front door. Lu, sensing something wrong, set a hand on Sam’s arm. Sam clambered from the truck, ripped the paper away without comment or reading, folded it, and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. He waved everyone in, drew beers for them, and thanked them properly for his and Lu’s dinner. Only when they’d left did he draw the paper from his pocket and read it.

“What’s it about?” asked Lu.

“About what I expected,” he said. He handed her the note.

Sam Witherspoon,

Several of our finest citizens, on their way home from church today, noticed your truck at this establishment, along with vehicles of several of your regular customers.

Let me remind you of the ordinance in this county prohibiting the sale of alcoholic beverages on Sunday. I will be by tomorrow morning to question you about goings on at your place on this date, and I will expect to see your sales ledger for the Sunday sales you made.

Wayman Tucker

Chief of Police, Striven, AL

Lu set the paper on the bar. “What’s going to happen, Sam? I mean, is there something he can do to us?”

“Harassment’s all it is. They ain’t much to make of it otherwise. I wasn’t open to customers, and I didn’t sell no alcohol.”

Lu looked to the floor and sighed.

“Don’t you worry none,” he said. “This happens ever once in a while. All that’s going to happen is Tucker’ll come by, make a few threats, and then we’ll both go about our bidness.”

“Oh, Sam, I hate this. I just hate it!”

He smiled, rose, and tugged her to him. “I was gonna leave you with the place tomorrow so I could go fishing. The only bad thing’s gonna happen is I won’t be able to wet a hook until I have my sit-down with Tucker.”

Visit my website here. Within it you’ll find more on books and events that matter to me — and possibly to you. And there’s a gridleyfires Facebook page, too, if you can find it